Married by Midnight (The BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES Series, #12) (9 page)

“I don’t know if I should tell you this,” she began and grinned as she watched her adoptive grandmother squirm.  She was being naughty, torturing Claire like this, but it was so much fun.  At the old woman’s glare she caved in.  “Okay, okay, I’ll talk.  I...” she said, dragging out the word, “was asked out,” she raised her eyebrows, “on a date.  My very first date.”  As she said the words Golden almost clapped her hands in delight, she was so thrilled.  She held it in, though.  Of course she wouldn’t do anything as childish as that.

Instead of lifting, Claire’s frown deepened.  “What are you saying?  You’ve never been out on a date before?”

Golden felt the blush rise in her cheeks.  She couldn’t help it.  This was an embarrassing situation to be in.  How many twenty-year-olds were as backward as she was, where men and dates were concerned?  She had Dunstan Manchester and his rules to thank for that.  Her lips tightened at the thought.

“No, not yet,” she said, her voice subdued as she fought to swallow her shame, “but all that’s going to change soon.  This Saturday night.”  Just saying the words made her feel bright again and the smile slipped back onto her face.

“Well, it’s about time,” Claire huffed.  Then her face cleared.  “So who is the lucky young man?”

“My boss.  Reed Davidoff.”

“I knew it.  I knew you had your eyes on that man.”

Golden gasped in horror.  “No, I didn’t.  I wasn’t the one who asked him out, Claire.  He did the asking.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Claire said, waving her hand as if dismissing Golden’s objection.  “The important thing is, you’ll be going out with him.  You know what that means, don’t you?”  Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at Golden.  “Possibilities.” 

Claire Bertlamb was something else.  Golden could only smile back at her, amused at the crafty look on the woman’s face. She was probably busy planning all sorts of things, a wedding included.  That was a laugh if there ever was one.  A possibility, that was not.

“Now don’t get any ideas,” Golden warned.  “We’re just going out for dinner, that’s all.  This may be the first and the last time the man asks me out.”  Then she grimaced.  “Or maybe it will be the only time I ever get to go out.  Once my stepfather hears about this the pressure will be on.”

“Excuse me?  You’re twenty-one, are you not?”

“Not twenty-one yet but almost there.  But you’d think I was twelve, the way he treats me.”

“So what’s wrong with him?”  Claire demanded, obviously taken aback by Golden’s prison-like living situation.  “At that rate you’ll never find a husband.”

“Exactly.  But don’t worry about it, Claire,” Golden said, patting her hand, “I’ll figure out a way to get around him.  It will be all right.”

“It had better be,” Claire mumbled, “or else I’ll have to have a word with that man.”  Then she gave Golden a quizzical look.  “And what about that mother of yours?  What does she have to say about all this?”

“Well...” Golden hesitated, not wanting to bring her mother into the discussion.  Eugenia was the most difficult factor in the whole equation.  Every decision Golden made was centered around its impact on her mother and that was the problem.  As long as her mother was in the middle of things she would never be free.  “I haven’t told her about this yet,” she said finally, “and I probably won’t. It’s...easier that way.”

Claire’s lips tightened and she shook her head.  “It’s a sad state of affairs,” she tsked, “when you have to hide your joys from your own mother.  You need to remove yourself from that environment.  It’s stifling you.”

“I wish I could.”  Golden’s voice was nothing but a whisper but the shadow that crossed Claire’s face said she’d heard every word.  Another great time to change the subject.  “I’m thinking I’ll wear my black dress with the gold piping.  What do you think?”

“The same dress you wore to Gertrude’s funeral last year?  That old thing?” 

That drew a gasp from Golden.  “It’s not old.  I’ve only worn it twice.”

“And make sure you don’t ever wear it again,” Claire said crossly.  “That dress makes you look older than I am.” 

Now that was deflating.  Golden let out an exasperated breath.  “But it’s the only thing I have that’s appropriate.”

“Appropriate?  What kind of a word is that for a young girl to use?  You’re describing the dress you’ll be wearing when you go out with this young man of yours.  You don’t want appropriate.  You want lovely, you want elegant.  No,” she put up a finger, “you want sexy.”

“Sexy?” Golden had to laugh.  “Claire, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Stop saying that word.”

“All right, I’ll stop.”  Golden put up a hand in surrender.  “But I honestly think that’s the perfect dress for a dinner date.  I don’t want my boss to think I’m being flirtatious.  And besides,” she shrugged, “I can’t afford to buy anything fancy.  I spent my first paycheck on work clothes.

“Get the money from your mother, child.  What do you think mothers are for?  Most likely, she’ll love the excitement of taking you shopping for your first date, late as it is.”

“I don’t think so,” Golden said, her voice hesitant.  “I doubt that mother would give me a loan.”

“Loan?  What loan?  Can’t she spend some money on her own daughter?”  Her face flushed with anger, Claire looked ready to hit somebody.

“Claire, you don’t understand.  It’s not that easy, not with Dunstan Manchester in the picture.  He wouldn’t let her.”

“He wouldn’t let...” Claire began to sputter and now she was growing really red in the face.  “Who does he think he is?  Is this the nineteenth century?”

“Please, Claire, don’t.”  Golden leaned forward and laid a hand on her arm.  “Don’t get so upset.  I’ll figure something out.  I could check the thrift store-”

“Thrift store?  Are you mad?  For the dress you’ll wear on your first date?”  Claire flung Golden’s hand off her arm and pointed to her handbag lying on the table by the window.  “Hand me my bag,” she said, her tone imperious.  “I need my checkbook.”

“For what?”  Golden did not budge.  She could guess what Claire had in mind and she had no intention of letting her do it.

“I’m giving you some money so you can get yourself a nice dress.”

“I don’t want your money.”  Golden bit her lip.  The words came out sharp and cold, causing Claire to raise her eyebrows.  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, just in case she’d offended the woman, “but I didn’t mention the date so you would offer me money.  You’re very kind but please, I’m quite all right.”

Claire gave an exasperated sigh.  “Take it as a loan, then.  You can pay me back when you’ve saved enough money.  You have to get something from Harrods, my dear.  You deserve nothing less.”

That brought a smile to Golden’s lips.  “Oh, you’re so kind.  I’ll think about it, okay?”  Of course, she would think about no such thing, not a gift or even a loan from Claire.  She’d never relied on anyone to solve her problems and she was not about to start now.

Knowing how tenacious the older woman could be Golden grabbed for the one thing she knew would throw her friend off track and wipe the money issue clean from her mind.  “By the way, what would you say if I told you I’d like to help you reunite with your daughter?  What if I took her a message from you?”

“I’d say leave well enough alone, child.  This doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, but it does.  If you’re not happy then how can I be happy?”

“And who says I’m not happy?”

“Nobody but sometimes you look...like you miss her.”  Golden regarded Claire’s face that had now turned serious.  “Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” Claire said, her voice overly firm.  She wasn’t fooling anybody, though.

Golden sighed.  She would tackle this another time.  She reached for her handbag and stood up.  “I’ve got to go now, Claire.”

“I know, my dear.  It was nice of you to drop in.”

Golden smiled.  “It was my pleasure.”  She leaned down to kiss Claire on the forehead.  As she walked toward the door she gave her a wave of goodbye.  “Give my love to your tea-time crew.”

“I will.  And you know I’ll be telling them about the date.”

Golden could only laugh as Claire’s laughter followed her down the hallway.

T
he next couple of days were extra busy for Golden.  She didn’t know if Reed was piling on the work to distract them from thinking about the upcoming event or if he was genuinely trying to kill her with work because he’d changed his mind and was trying to get out of the date.  Whatever his reason, he made sure she was swamped all day Thursday and Friday.

It was with a sigh of relief that she shut down her computer at five-thirty that Friday and cleared the papers from her desk.  She was just swiveling around in the chair, getting ready to rise, when Reed’s head popped around the door.

“Remember to leave me that address,” he said, giving her a surprisingly boyish grin.  It brightened his face, reminding her of how young he was.

“I remember,” she said.  “The address and directions are right here.”  She slid the paper off the top of her desk, got up and walked over to him.  She stopped when she was still three or four feet away and stretched out her hand.  “Here you go.”

He lifted an eyebrow, a look of amusement on his face but to her relief he simply reached out to take the paper from her nervous fingers.  “Thank you,” he said as his eyes skimmed her face which she was sure was pink from her flustered state.  “See you tomorrow at six, then?”

“Yes, tomorrow,” she said with a quick nod then stepped back, escaping to a safe distance.  “Have...have a good weekend.”  She grabbed her bag and made a speedy exit, breathing easy only when she’d reached the end of the hallway and had pressed the button for the elevator.  He was probably back there in the office laughing at her.  She’d run like a frightened rabbit but she couldn’t help it.  Being so close, he scared her.  Heaven knew how she was going to manage when he picked her up for their date.

After a fitful sleep Friday night Golden got up early that Saturday morning, intent on slipping out of the house before the others got up.  She had a lot to do before her date that evening and she wanted no surprise requests or demands to mess up her plans for the day.  Claire hated her dress so she planned to scour every bargain store within a twenty-mile radius until she’d found an outfit she would be proud of.

Her first stop yielded disappointing results.  The clothes were dirt-cheap, exactly in keeping with what her budget could manage, but not surprisingly they were hellishly ugly.  She left that first store, a slight cloud of depression beginning to gather, and headed down to Cheshire Street.  She would definitely find something there.  But she didn’t.  The only dresses she liked did not fit into her budget at all.

Her depression growing by the minute she headed out to the next store on the list.  No luck there so she headed to the next.  Then the next.  By this time it was past noon and the tiny cloud of depression that had been following her around all morning was now a billowing gray mass that was almost blocking out the sun.  The day was sunny and bright.  It should have been a lovely day for her but how could it be when she was going to end up going out with her fantasy prince looking like a dowdy old dowager?

She’d just dragged herself back to her car and was piling into the seat when her cell phone began to buzz in her handbag.

An involuntary groan escaped her lips. 
Please, make it not be Mother
.  There was one more store she wanted to check and she just hoped she wasn’t being summoned home early.  Although it was looking less likely with each passing minute she still had her fingers crossed that she would find a nice enough dress before her date showed up at the door.

Grumbling, Golden dug her phone out of the bag and jammed it to her ear.  “Yes?”  Her tone was less than friendly but she just wanted to hear what the problem was this time and then get on with her day.  Time was flying fast and she didn’t have the luxury of a leisurely chat on the phone.

“Golden?  Golden Browne?” 

The voice on the other end of the line was unfamiliar, making Golden frown.  “Yes?  This is she.”

“This is Sara O’Toole from Sunnybrook Nursing Home.  I was asked to get an urgent message to you.”

Golden’s heart lurched and she gripped the phone tighter.  “Yes?  What is it?  Is Claire...ill?”

“I can’t say at the moment.”  The woman’s voice was brusque and emotionless, making it impossible to read anything from her tone.  “I was only told to ask you to come to the home as soon as possible. It’s in regards to Claire Bertlamb.  May I tell them you’re on your way?”

“Y...yes.  Yes, of course.  I’ll come right away.  But what’s going on?  Did Claire-” Golden didn’t get the chance to say another word.  Midsentence she heard the click that told her the woman had hung up.

Brows knitted in consternation she started the car, backed out of her parking spot and set off on her way to the nursing home, all thoughts of dresses and dates and handsome princes knocked out of her head.

“Claire, please be all right,” she whispered as she raced toward the nursing home.  “I can’t afford to lose you.”

She screeched into the parking space and ran into the building.  As she signed in her hand trembled, she was so anxious.  She hardly even returned the receptionist’s welcoming smile, dashing off toward the elevator as soon as she’d scrawled her name in the register.  “Come on, come on,” she muttered, wondering if the elevator had always been this slow.  When it finally opened she barged in, almost barreling into an elderly couple who were exiting the lift.  “So sorry,” she mumbled, too distracted to pay much attention to them after that. 

When the doors finally opened on the third floor, Golden tore down the hallway, not slowing until she got to Claire’s door.  Heart pounding she tapped on the door, listening for Claire’s usual command to enter.

And then she heard it.  Claire’s voice – sharp and strong and imperious.  It was like the sweetest music in Golden’s ears.  She sagged with relief.  It sounded like Claire was just fine.

Quickly, she pushed the door open and stepped in.  “Claire,” she said then stopped.  There was no-one in the bed, no-one in the armchair by the window.  But she’d just heard Claire’s voice.  Had it been her imagination?